The Avenger Games
by snarkvenger
Summary: Hunger Games AU. Twenty four go in, only one comes out. Let the Games begin.
1. May The Odds Be Ever In Your Favor

Disclaimer: The Hunger Games and The Avengers are the property of their respective owners. Any other characters used are also the sole property of their rightful owners. I am merely a girl with a computer.

I'd like to start off by saying thanks for reading! I've got a lot of plans for this story and I'm really excited to share it with you guys. I hope you all enjoy reading as much as I enjoy writing it! This is sort of an AU/Crossover fic. No Hunger Games characters will appear, however the plot is derived from the series. I have plans for some possible Frostiron later, but nothing is set in stone yet.

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"_In penance for their uprising, each district shall offer up a male and female between the ages of 12 and 18 at a public 'Reaping'. These tributes shall be delivered to the custody of the Capitol, and then transferred to a public arena, where they will fight to the Death until a lone victor remains. Henceforth and furthermore this pageant shall be known as _The Hunger Games." –Treaty of Treason

* * *

**LOKI**

The air is cool and heavy with anticipation, and it has been all morning. The would-be tributes are a great mass of pounding heartbeats and sweaty palms and even though I've known most of them all my life, even though we've sat together in classrooms and worked beside each other in factories and trained with one another in the hours in between, I cannot seem to recognize a single one of their faces.

Heimdall, adorned in golden garb that's nearly blinding in the bright sun, glides easily across the stage that has been erected in front of the Justice Building. A hush falls over all of District One. An electric hum fills the gap left in the void of the voices swallowed up by Heimdall's mere presence. The screens that have been stationed around the square flicker to life and the opening strains of the anthem drift through the speakers set up beside them. The Capitol's emblem comes into focus on each massive screen as the music builds up. Heimdall makes a great show of directing our attention to the screens but, honestly, how could we possibly focus on anything else?

As the last strains of the anthem melt back into the speakers the screen comes alive with pictures of despair. A mother clings to the body of her son; a parentless child wanders a desolate village. A deep voice recalls the tale, a tale we all know like the backs of our hands. It starts with thirteen districts and a Capitol that protected them. It details how the districts rebelled, how they fought tirelessly against a people that had done nothing but provide the best for them. A great deal of time is spent reminding us all that not all the districts survived. Haunting footage of the fallen District Thirteen lingers, gray and dull and undeniably dead.

The background music that I'd neglected to notice suddenly turns joyous as pictures of the Capitol's victory are painted across the canvas of the screens. An undertone of the anthem weaves its way between the notes as we are told of The Hunger Games, a reminder of the Dark Days, a reminder that the Capitol will never forget the wrongs the districts had done it.

When the story is done Heimdall is suddenly all anybody can see. He is and always has been a man of few words, so nobody is surprised when he fails to comment on the annual film. Instead he simply strides over to the great glass bowls that are overflowing with tiny strips of overly white paper.

"Ladies first," he booms, his voice gruff as ever. He plunges his hand into the bowl and roots around as though looking for some kind of treasure, perhaps a beautiful item hand-crafted by our District, which does in fact specialize in the making of luxury items. Heimdall carefully lifts up a strip of paper and unfolds it. "The Lady Sif," he calls. He's found his treasure.

Sif is a prideful young woman who lays claim to an extraordinary amount of beauty and an equally extraordinary bounty of strength. She strides to the stage with her head held high and her shoulders pressed down and I think I notice Heimdall's lips twitch up in a smile as she comes to a halt beside him. He nods a welcome to her before turning towards the second glass bowl.

"And for the boys," he says, his hand reaching slowly into the bowl. I scan the crowd. The potential tributes have all eyes glued to Heimdall. Hundreds, perhaps a thousand, young men don't dare to breathe, don't dare to move. Our families stand in the outskirts of the square, every mother pleading for the safety of her child, every father begging for glory and honor to be brought to the district. That's how it is in District One. We are a proud people.

I barely hear Heimdall announce the male tribute, who, it turns out, is a scrawny twelve year old who doesn't stand a chance at bringing any sort of honor to this district. I only tune back in when he calls for volunteers to take the place of the chosen tributes. I don't falter.

"I volunteer as tribute!" I call out, my voice rising above all others. I feel Heimdall's eerie golden gaze as it settles on me. He nods to me and I weave my way out of the tangled web of the crowd and I find myself patting the little boy who would have gone into the arena on the shoulder as he breathes his thanks and scurries off to find his parents. Nobody tries to volunteer for Sif. Nobody would dare try to take this honor away from her.

When I step onto the stage Heimdall shakes my hand and asks my name. He then positions himself between Sif and myself, his hands hovering over but not quite touching our backs, as he turns us towards the crowd.

"May I present to you the District One tributes of the 74th Annual Hunger Games, Loki Odinson and the Lady Sif!" There is a brief pause, a mere heartbeat of a moment, before we're showered in applause. Heimdall invites Sif and I to shake hands and though neither of us seems to want to we do so for the sake of tradition. "Congratulations," Heimdall says. "And may the odds be ever in your favor."

* * *

**TONY**

My father was once a tribute. My father once stood in the room that I am pacing now. He once paced back and forth along these tired and worn floorboards, probably wringing his hands the way he often did when he didn't want to admit that he was nervous. My father hugged his mother, promised her he'd try to win. He shook his father's hand. He refused to say goodbye to Maria, the young woman he had been courting. Instead he promised her that he would come home.

My father was whisked away to the Capitol. He entered the arena with a vast knowledge of science and the physical world around him. He made fast friends with the Careers, tributes of Districts One, Two and Four. My father convinced the Careers that he could be trusted by offering his knowledge to help them find shelter, claim food and water sources and fashion weapons out of rocks and branches and vines.

My father charmed the Careers right into the palm of his hand. He made his fellow tributes reliant on him. When my father was certain he'd gained the Careers complete and ultimate trust he began to lead them in circles around the arena. He led them away from water sources. He tricked them into thinking harmless berries would kill them in seconds. As the number of tributes within the arena dwindled, my father began to lead the Careers towards the most dangerous and formidable opponents. Under my father's direction, District One lost both its tributes, the male from District Two was killed and the female from four was seriously injured. These events caused the Careers to turn on my father.

My father fought them. My father outsmarted them and my father beat them.

My father became a victor.

And he never would have expected me to do the same.

My father passed away some years ago. He went quietly, which was a relief to many of his fans both in District Three and in the Capitol. In the weeks following his death I remember the intoxicating scent of extraordinarily colored flowers filling our house in the Victor's Village. They were all from admirers in the Capitol. My mother passed away just a year later. The Capitol tabloids claimed she died of a "broken heart". I was offered many condolences.

Today, when Obadiah Stane, District Three's escort, called my name at the Reaping I swear you could have heard a pin drop. Everyone was silent as I, the son of the victor Howard Stark, strode to the stage. I could hear everyone suck in their breath as I shook Obadiah's hand. Nobody moved when I shook the hand of this year's female tribute, a small, shy girl named Jane Foster. Then, when Obadiah presented us to the crowd, the applause was deafening.

Now I find myself walking the length of the small Justice Building room for the sixtieth time. Every now and again my gaze slips towards the door, but I don't expect anyone to come in. Were they alive my parents would have come and gone by now. James Rhodes, a close friend of mine, had already come to see me. We'd embraced. He clapped me on the back and wished me luck. He made me promise that I would come home. It made me think of my father's story, and how he swore to my mother that I would be back. If only Rhodey were some beautiful young dame.

I am about to continue my repetitive walk along the tattered, faded, dusty rug when the door creaks open.

"Three minutes," the Peacekeeper posted at my door says and there's a short, breathy reply before the door is closed behind Pepper Potts. Well, I did wish for a beautiful woman, didn't I?

"Pepper," I say and she breaks into a smile. She opens her arms and I walk into them. Despite how small she is, Pepper's embrace is strong. I feel grounded. I supposed she's always had that effect on me.

"Tony," Pepper says. I can feel her breath on my neck, a new hot wave with every word she speaks. She steps away but keeps her hands on my arms. "You can do this."

"You know I can," I say with a smile and a wink. I can practically feel Pepper resisting the urge to roll her eyes at me. "Come on, Pep. It's going to be fine. I'll be fine."

"If you say so," she replies. She's holding tight to me. I can't help but return the touch.

"If the old man can do it then so can I," I say confidently. That gets a laugh from her. A real one that gets strangled by a sob she's trying to hold back. In an attempt to hide her tears Pepper pulls me close again. I wrap my arms around her, trying to reassure her that everything really is going to be okay. She holds on a little tighter, telling me she sees right through me.

"Take care of yourself," Pepper says. It sounds a lot like an order.

"I will," I say. We both pretend my voice doesn't falter.

The door creaks open again and we reluctantly let go of one another. Pepper follows the Peacekeeper out of the room, pausing briefly to glance at me over her shoulder. I wave to her, but get cut off by the heavy thud of the door as it closes.

As I slowly lower my hand I try with all my might to convince myself that my promises to Rhodey and Pepper can be kept.


	2. Twenty-Four Tributes

****Disclaimer: The Hunger Games, The Avengers and other Marvel characters belong to their respective owners. I own a computer.

I'm so sorry it took so long for me to post this chapter! I tried to make it as interesting as possible, but the action doesn't really officially start until next chapter, so I'm sorry if this one is a little boring. I promise that the next chapter will not take nearly as long to post. I had to pull a lot of comic book characters out for this, but the six Avengers used by Marvel Cinematic Universe will be the ones focused on for the story.

Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoy!

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**NATASHA**

After a tribute is chosen they are escorted inside their district's Justice Building and are allowed short visits with family and friends. It is a chance to say goodbye. It is a chance to whisper words that have gone too long unspoken. A chance to embrace your loved ones one last time because, let's face it, the odds are very much stacked against you. Twenty four tributes go into the arena- a male and female from each of the twelve districts. Only one is allowed to come out.

I don't expect any visitors. My parents are long gone and I don't have too many friends here in District Eight. I suppose now that I am waiting for my district partner to finish with his farewells. He's a young boy, barely thirteen years old, named Peter Parker. When his name was called this morning there was a long pause before he finally emerged from the sea of young faces flooding the square. I could feel him trembling from miles away.

I can't help but feel sorry for Peter. He's so young and so scared. With how small and scrawny he is he'd be lucky to make it past the first day of the Games, let alone win the whole thing. He must be in a nearby room, sitting on the same sort of overstuffed couch I'm on now, trembling like he was on the stage and whispering in that small, barely-there voice of his tearful last goodbyes.

I'm pulled from my thoughts by the squeaking door hinges. The gruff voice of the Peacekeeper guarding me reminds the newcomer that they're only allotted three minutes. The first good glimpse I catch of my visitor comes when the Peacekeeper shuts the door behind her. She's an elderly woman, one of District Eight's oldest residents. Her graying hair is pulled into a bun that rests at the back of her head and her soft eyes are rimmed with tears. On her cheeks I can see the trails of tears she's already let fall.

It takes me mere minutes to place where I've seen the woman before. She's only seen alone when she's working in the textile factories. When she's in town, she always has the shadow of a small, scrawny boy trailing after her. The elderly woman who takes a seat next to me is May, Peter Parker's aunt and, if I remember correctly, his sole caretaker.

"I've just seen Peter," May says. I stare down at the carpet in front of us. There's dust caked in between the threads. It feels like a lot of time passes before she finally says, "He's scared."

I carefully raise my head and find her eyes in the dim light of the room. There's only one lamp in here. It's on a table behind May, and the way she's sitting with her back to it and her head right in front of the lamp shade makes it look sort of like she has a halo.

"I imagine you're frightened yourself," May continues when I fail to come up with any words. It's quiet again. I look away, not wanting to admit to anybody exactly how scared I really am. "I need to ask you something," May says, bringing my full attention back to her.

"What?" I asked. My voice seems so small, like a pebble dropped to the floor.

"Would you please look after Peter," May says. She reaches out and takes my hand. My first instinct is to pull away, but I can't bring myself to do that. I'm frozen in place by her sincere request. "I don't want him to be alone when…"

Her voice trails off and she looks away from me. Her hand is still on mine. It's warm and her palms are rough and worn with age. She sniffles and it seems like she's about to start to crying. She's probably cried quite a lot today.

"I promise," I say softly. Her gaze comes to rest on me and I nod my head. "I promise," I say again, stronger this time. Peter's aunt May looks at me for a very long time. It feels like she's studying me. Her eyes scan my face, committing every feature- every line and curve and freckle- to memory.

"Thank you," she says. It is at that moment when the Peacekeeper swings the door open and May takes her time rising from the couch and striding back to the doorway. She stops for a moment, looks at me one more time, and then disappears into the hall.

* * *

**STEVE**

The train that is taking my district partner and me to the Capitol is most certainly the strangest thing I've ever seen. It's large, and all of the seats are covered in a velvety purple fabric. The food they serve is equally as strange. It's all too rich, the flavors piled on top of one another in a way that makes it hard to tell exactly what you're tasting. Back home in District Four, we mainly live off of the seafood leftover after we've sent our haul to the Capitol. District Four is the fishing district, made up of small port towns and large fishing boats. If you live close enough to the sea, you're pushed onto a boat at the earliest your mother will let go of your hand and you only come off it for the sake of the Games.

District Four really isn't all that bad, though. Most people there eat well enough and everyone is pretty strong from the work that they do. We're one of the Career districts, like One and Two. Our tributes form an alliance with the other Careers and survive as long as they can in a pack. Even though you're not supposed to, people from all three Career districts train for the Games. They train and they volunteer, just like my best friend Bucky Barnes did last year.

Usually a Career tribute will win the Games. It's, of course, not uncommon for tributes from other districts to claim victory, but the Careers have the best track record because our tributes are usually the oldest and most fit of the twenty-four. I guess this is why I was so hopeful when Bucky entered the arena last year. It's why I kept telling myself not to worry, he'd come home.

A Career did win last year's 73rd Annual Hunger Games. That Career just wasn't Bucky. It wasn't his district partner, Peggy Carter, either. They survived for a while. They worked to keep one another alive as long as they could, but in the end they just didn't stand a chance. Bucky was sent flying off a cliff by the male tribute from District Six and Peggy, who had been nursing a large, nasty wound received from the female tribute from Ten, was claimed by an ugly combination of infection and dehydration.

After Bucky and Peggy were killed I honestly don't remember much of the Games. I just couldn't focus on them. The only thought in my mind was that Bucky wasn't coming home. Peggy wasn't coming home, either. District Four had lost both its tributes. Bucky's father was quiet and solemn. Because the Games are mandatory viewing for everyone, he wore a stone cold expression for the remaining three days. Bucky's mother was distraught. She couldn't stop crying from the moment the District Six boy's elbow collided with Bucky's collarbone, knocking him off balance and sending him over the cliff's ragged edge.

Peggy's mother was, as far as I know, deceased. Her father watched the rest of the Games with glassy eyes. He didn't talk to anybody and he didn't accept condolences and he didn't cheer for the victor, the well-muscled, blonde-haired boy from District One. After Thor Odinson had finished his final victor's interview in the Captiol, Peggy Carter's father went into his house, shut the door tight, and quietly passed away.

Bucky's parents, who I had known my entire life, became very distant after the Games. I guess that's not really surprising at all, is it? They still went about their everyday lives. Bucky's father came to work every day and his mother kept the house neat and clean. But they were just so robotic about everything they did. I didn't see them shed a tear until Thor Odinson came to the district on his Victory Tour, an annual trip the victor of the Hunger Games must take. Thor spoke briefly of Bucky and Peggy, and how they had been excellent allies and true fighters until the very end. Bucky's mother wept. His father held onto her so tightly you'd think she would've floated away if he dared let her go. I decided then and there that I was going to volunteer for the next Hunger Games. I was going to train until I was as strong as Thor, and I would volunteer for Bucky and for Peggy and for their families. I didn't have a family here. My parents were both gone, and my best friend had been claimed by the Games. I would go in and fight for him and if I won, it would be for him and it would be for Peggy.

My name is Steve Rogers. I am 18 years old, and I am District Four's male tribute in the 74th Annual Hunger Games. I volunteered to be here, and I will try my hardest to win.

* * *

**CLINT**

District Two is located practically on the outskirts of the Capitol. I had barely stepped on the train and taken a seat when it was announced that we had arrived. My district partner, Barbara Morse, and I race straight to the window. People are already lined up at the platform, jumping up and down and waving and cheering and screaming our names. I can't suppress a laugh at their outlandish clothing and intricate facial tattoos. As far as I'm concerned, everybody from the Capitol looks like they're a part of some other-worldly alien race. Nonetheless, Barbara and I smile and wave to them. They like that sort of thing.

When the train has stopped at the station we are ushered out of our compartment by Mantis, our Capitol escort. In true Capitol fashion, Mantis's skin is dyed green and her eyes seem altered to reflect the same strange hue. Our mentors, past District Two victors of the Hunger Games, follow closely behind us. My mentor is Buck Chisholm, who won the Games a few years ago with wit and a bow. Barbara's is Ashley Crawford, who won the year after Buck. We haven't spoken to them much yet, but I like them so far.

The roar of the crowd is deafening once on the platform. They don't even really know who we are yet, but we're tributes, and tributes have a celebrity status in the Capitol from the moment they're reaped until the day that they die, be it in the arena or as an old and tired victor. Buck and Ashley help us maneuver through the crowd. The people are cheering for them just as much they are for us. The two smile and nod and occasionally reach out to shake a hand and Barbara and I mimic them until we're finally in the lobby of the Training Center. The sound of our names being called over and over again like a mantra is now muffled by the thick walls of glass that surround us.

"Get used to that," Mantis tells us, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder toward the crowd. Barbara and I both nod and follow her as she continues towards a bank of elevators. "Floors are set up according to district," Mantis explains, "so you two will be on the second floor. Now, it will be a while before the other tributes arrive and you two aren't scheduled to meet your stylists for a few more hours. Enjoy the down time while you can."

"We can watch the replaying of the Reapings," Barbara suggests. "I'd like to see who the competition is this year."

The rest of us all agree that this is a good idea, and so, after Mantis gives us a brief tour of our floor, we all settle down in the living area and Buck flicks on the television. The anthem blares through the speakers the moment the thing turns on and soon the screen fills up with the faces of District One's tributes, Loki and Sif. Because they're Careers they'll most likely become our allies. Barbara, who announced to us all that she "prefers being called Bobbi, if we don't mind", says that Sif looks strong.

"What about Loki?" I ask. Bobbi looks at him on the screen, scrutinizing every bit of him in seconds.

"He isn't muscular like his brother," she says, referring to last year's victor, Thor Odinson. "His strengths are going to be different. He could be an asset."

I nod as I take in Bobbi's brief analysis and then turn back to the screen. We're being shown now. Then it's District Three's tributes, Tony Stark and Jane Foster. Buck says that Jane looks like she won't last a day, and I can't help but agree. She's so small and petite that she can't possibly pose a threat. Tony, he's the son of victor. Mantis remembers his father and says that Tony will be a fan favorite simply because of his name.

"Mark my words, sponsors will be lined up with silver parachutes for that boy," she says.

"Should we ally with him, then?" Bobbi asks.

"Don't decide that until you see what he can do," Ashley advises. Buck hums in agreement and we all turn our attention to the District Four tributes, Steve Rogers and Maria Hill. They had both volunteered as tributes, and they looked strong and ready for a fight. The District Five tributes were Bruce Banner and Jennifer Walters. They look alike and answer yes when their escort asks them if they're related. Bruce clarifies that they're cousins.

"They don't look like much," I can't help but scoff.

"They probably won't make it past the first day," Bobbi agrees.

"Don't count on it," Buck warns us. We look at him quizzically and he sighs like he's annoyed. "Don't just assume that any tribute is going to be an easy kill. Watch them in training. That's when you can tell who's going to be the easiest to pick off."

The District Six tributes, Reed Richards and Susan Storm, also don't look like much to contend with, but Buck's comment has silenced both Bobbi and myself. The District Seven tributes are twins called Pietro and Wanda Maximoff. Wanda had been called first, and Pietro reacted right away, screaming and fighting his way through the crowd. The escort had hardly called the chosen tribute's name when Pietro volunteered himself. The commotion, partnered with the twins' dramatic embrace that took place after Pietro bounded his way to the stage, made District Seven's reaping the most exciting one to watch.

"The Capitol is already in love with those two," Mantis quips.

"Keep that in mind," Ashley says.

District Eight will be represented by Natasha Romanoff and Peter Parker. Peter is just a kid. He's thin and lanky and hasn't filled out yet. Natasha is taller and more muscular, but I'm not sure if she really is that strong or if the way that's she's standing, with her arms crossed firmly over her chest, are making her muscles appear larger. Peter looks petrified. Natasha is nearly impossible to read. While her district partner's eyes flit nervously about, hers are trained in front of her. She shakes Peter's hand and she's supposed to and doesn't look back when the Peacekeepers usher her inside the Justice Building.

"She seems interesting." I don't realize I've said the words out loud until Bobbi speaks up.

"Slow down there, loverboy," she teases. "You may have to kill her later."

"What?" I say, blinking at her. "I didn't say anything like that, I just said that she seems interesting."

"Uh-huh, interesting," Bobbi hums. I want to argue further, but Buck shoots me a look and Mantis tells us both that we've missed the announcement of the District Nine tributes. We tune back in to see the two tributes shaking hands. Ashley informs us that their names are Sean Cassidy and Clarice Fergusen. Clarice is even smaller than Peter had been and, even though I wouldn't admit it to anybody in the room, my heart breaks a little bit when my eyes land on her. We then watch the District Ten tributes, Carol Danvers and James Howlett , take the stage. After them it's Hank Pym and Janet Von Dyne of District Eleven, and pretty much everybody in the room has lost interest by the time the District Twelve tributes, Jim Hammond and Tara Torch. The last strains of the anthem waft through the room and then we're all swallowed by the silence.

"Well," Mantis says eventually. "Let the Games begin."


End file.
